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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189697">Gone as far as I can go, now take me home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/joestars/pseuds/joestars'>joestars</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Overwatch (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 00:29:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,975</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24189697</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/joestars/pseuds/joestars</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As he lies on the grassy plains, staring up at the pale blue sky, he can almost trick himself into believing this is freedom. Nothing in his periphery but sky. It isn’t freedom though, because his wings are still clipped. They’ll remain that way, no matter how far he wanders from Shimada Castle.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Gone as far as I can go, now take me home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/salemnities/gifts">salemnities</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a gift for Salem!! Ilysm 💞💞 I loved writing this for you</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Blue seems fitting for the colour of happiness. On those rare occasions where Genji isn’t needed for this or that, he finds his time well spent outside of Hanamura. For as much as his father’s advisors like to laud him as a good for nothing, nothing more than a liability, he doesn’t enjoy the life he leads. No, for all the nights spent under the city’s lights, living up to his poor reputation, invoking the ire he seeks to, he always makes it up on the rolling hills of the countryside. As he lies on the grassy plains, staring up at the pale blue sky, he can almost trick himself into believing this is freedom. Nothing in his periphery but sky. It isn’t freedom though, because his wings are still clipped. They’ll remain that way, no matter how far he wanders from Shimada Castle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His escape ends up being short lived, because it seems like his brother has been sent to find him. These days, there’s too much of Genji needed at the castle. It’s a reality he loathes to face. He’s never been interested in his duties as the second Shimada son; there’s little he finds interesting in the world of crime. Something about it doesn’t sit right with him. It isn’t as if his moral compass is at war with itself, because Genji has done as much as any other Shimada has done, but — it’s still stifling. He realises that Hanzo doesn’t have the same luxury as he does; that his father has granted him more leeway than he ever would with Hanzo, but it never seemed to have bothered Hanzo the way it does him. That time seems to be coming to an end, though. Now that his father is ill and weak, and the clan prime for the takeover. Each and everyday, more reprimands; harsher training; unimpressed looks; are thrown his way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It seems that Genji will never be able to flee from his fate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t mean he can’t try, though. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears Hanzo before he sees him, and Genji takes that as his opportunity. After all, he’s always been better at stealth than his brother. He leaps to his feet, deciding to run — run to wherever he can. As the wind rushes past his ears, he wonders if this is what sparrows feel like during flight. The scenery blurs together, but no matter how hard he tries, he can still feel the hard earth beneath his feet, grounding him in ways he never knew could be so painful. All it does is prove that there isn’t a place on this earth he could take flight to where he wouldn’t be found. All it would do is further prove what his father’s advisors say about him. Perhaps that’s why he does what he does; Genji can’t seem to do anything right, so he may as well do everything as badly as he can. In the end, he’s only living up to their poor perception of him. So what, he doesn’t want to live a life of crime; so what, he doesn’t want the burden of carrying a family name that comes with so much weight. Why is that bad? Why does that make him worthy of punishment? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Footsteps follow his every move; he can almost convince himself he hears, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Stop with these childish games, Genji!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>carried by the wind. Hanzo used to be his closest confidant, even if he was his closest competitor. These days, they rarely speak. If they do, it’s about how Genji should take his studies more seriously, should listen more closely to meetings, should stop being a child. That last one is most often thrown in his face, especially when he has to sneak over the castle walls in the early mornings after a night out. Shimada Castle is just a name for an oversized cage. It’s unfair, how Hanzo can’t seem to understand how the expectations are like shackles; that he was always meant for flight. Nothing makes sense these days, as his father’s last days are ahead of him, and a life of captivity awaits Genji. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes, he wonders if the story his father used to tell them was supposed to be prophecy, or warning. There’s a sharp pain in his shoulder, and Genji stumbles, the ground fast approaching. It’s his brother’s arrow, pierced through him perfectly. That, like every other fight they’ve ever had, is another betrayal added to the list. They aren’t like most families, Genji couldn’t ever deny that, but the violence that sparks between them seemingly naturally — that worries him. Which is he supposed to be, the dragon of the North Wind, or the South? Only time will tell, but Genji is afraid of the answer. The only person on his side is about to die, and all he’s left with is an echo of his brother, and a home full of hatred. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he lies on the ground — pavement, now — he looks up to the sky. For comfort, for hope, for something. To feel something, other than dread in his heart and dawning realisation. There’s cityscape in his periphery; blinding lights, heeled shoes. Genji is greeted by Hanzo’s frowning face, and he isn’t quite sure if this is reality or memory. After all, this isn’t an unusual sight. There’s been plenty of nights, when Genji is chasing the euphoria of false freedom, that Hanzo is left to pick up the pieces, and give him a good talking to. They don’t talk much these days. Much like now. Hanzo doesn’t bother offering him a hand, only the stern words, “Get up.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Genji grins, “No.” </span>
</p>
<p>The arrow has been pushed deeper, the cold, solid pavement causing it to dig in. It feels like another reminder. What type though, Genji isn’t sure. He rarely sees blue, nowadays. There’s only the grey of the castle walls, the metallic of the streetlights, the unfeeling of his home. He can’t live like this. A bird isn’t meant to be caged, and his father did always call Genji his little sparrow. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>——</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Blue seems like a distant memory. Nowadays, all he can see is red. It’s strange, that he feels more trapped than ever, when he’s freer than he could ever be. No human limitations, no obligations, no feeling, no </span>
  <em>
    <span>feelings, </span>
  </em>
  <span>no nothing. Yet, all he can do is feel chained. People would do anything for what he has; or perhaps, better put, what he doesn’t have. They don’t know what it’s like, though. To have everything that makes a person what they are stripped; their humanity laid bare, taken with force, replaced with foreign parts. The very reminder that — that he has had his humanity </span>
  <em>
    <span>ripped </span>
  </em>
  <span>from him, and because of his </span>
  <em>
    <span>brother </span>
  </em>
  <span>of all people, it tears him up all over again. Genji only realises he’s broken the hilt of his sword as it clatters against the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa, easy there,” McCree remarks, jovial as ever despite being on the wrong side of the law, “Havin’ a bad day, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes all of a second for Genji to have him pinned. He moves with scary precision, despite the screaming pain of his now mechanical joints. He doesn’t know what’s worse: the periods of absolute numbness, or the overwhelming agony, rage, </span>
  <em>
    <span>rage</span>
  </em>
  <span> he feels inbetween</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s all or nothing, a life lived on the edge of oblivion. There’s a part of himself that died, and he can’t seem to get it back. Hanzo did a good job, he thinks blithely, to kill him without even finishing the job. What makes it worse is, he’s been created for convenience, for pain, destruction — </span>
  <em>
    <span>war. </span>
  </em>
  <span>A development that would have pleased the elders of the Shimada clan. He’s become what he was trying to escape. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nowadays, even when he can reach rooftops, escape, take flight, he can’t even feel the wind against his skin. It’s all dead nerves and facades. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to flying, and he can’t feel it. He’ll never be free, not really, because how can he be, when being free from human constraint isn’t enough? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the end, he can’t find it in himself to hurt McCree, even as the whirlwind of fury continues to burn within him. Genji releases him; this isn’t the first time he’s fruitlessly tried to take his anger out on something, certainly won’t be the last either. At least there’s something of a promise of revenge, of getting even, but he can’t imagine getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>better. </span>
  </em>
  <span>If it’s convenient for Overwatch, and specifically Blackwatch, to dismantle the empire he was once part of, then he has no questions. The thing is; he’s been made for revenge, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get it. Not fully. There’s something within him that’s insatiable. He wonders if it’s an issue with his technology or with the human that he’s supposed to be. That he used to be. Even once he has his chance to show — show them </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>what he is, what </span>
  <em>
    <span>they </span>
  </em>
  <span>are — what </span>
  <em>
    <span>they </span>
  </em>
  <span>did to him — he isn’t sure if he’ll even feel anything. If it’ll just be another ripple in a raging ocean. Genji doesn’t know anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nothing will be achieved today. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything that wouldn’t cut as deep as his sword could, so he takes his leave wordlessly. Training is a joke. No matter what Angela says about rehabilitation, about becoming accustomed to the mechanical joints, it doesn’t amount to anything. Genji doesn’t want to make his time on this earth easier; none of it matters anymore. Once he has his revenge, once he has done what Blackwatch wants him to do — what he wants to do — he’s done. What comes next is up to him, but physiotherapy isn’t going to be part of that. The last reminder of his humanity that he has is the searing pain; why would he want to get rid of that? What will happen once he can’t feel where he ends, and where the artificiality begins? Genji doesn’t want an answer to that question. He doesn’t want — </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t want to be who he is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He never really has, even before he died. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Who he is — who he was supposed to be — they always seemed to be at war with one another. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That hasn’t changed, even now. There’s no pristine image to uphold anymore, not for himself nor his family, but he feels just as obligated as he ever did. Now though, it’s an obligation to the unending storm within himself. It’s an obligation to the people who saved him — if such a term can be applied. It’s an obligation to stop — to just, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Genji thought getting out would set him free, but it hasn’t. He was never able to be himself, and now he never will. Shimada Castle is no longer his cage; his own body is, now. He thinks; if his wings were clipped before, they’ve been taken from him completely now. The constant contradiction his life proves to be is astounding, sometimes. He’s punished for everything that he wants to be. Something like him deserves to be, he supposes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes, at night, Genji will sneak to the roof. He’s supposed to be under lock and key, which isn’t an unfamiliar feeling, but he finds ways to bend the rules. When he’s under the stars, nothing but open sky above him, he can almost forget it all. He can’t, not really, because the escapes he sought before no longer apply, but he can try. There’s nothing that stops him from trying. As hopeless and destructive as he is, Genji can’t help but hold on. It’s a stubborn he was born with, and he hopes it doesn’t fade out. At the very least, it might serve its purpose finally. If he weren’t as stubborn as he is, he might never see the demise of the Shimada clan. With each day that drags by, with the pain of living in his veins, he is one step closer to seeking the revenge that’s been coded in his DNA. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>——</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Between the sky and the sea, blue reaches as far as his peripheries. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s not much in this coastal town, except perhaps maybe himself and Zenyatta and the mailman, but it’s enough for him. Each morning, he wakes to the sounds of seagulls, and each night, he sleeps to the sound of waves crashing. It doesn’t seem like a lot to most. If anything, compared to the excitement of espionage and war, it might be considered boring. After all, what is someone like him doing at the edge of the world? It’s laughably mundane. Yes, someone like Genji — with his years of being a perfect weapon and a less than perfect son — can’t blend in with the scenery. But he’s since learned that looks can be deceiving. Ilios is more of a home than anywhere else has ever been. Where sky meets earth is obscured, the lapis roofs blending to create a seamless merge between each plane. When he first moved there, Genji spent hours looking. Just looking. It looked nothing like it had when he was posted there, stuck observing it from the ground up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Today is much like the last, which means he’s about due for an hour of rest and respite. Usually, he opens the windows of the small cubiform house he’s found himself in, and waits for Zenyatta’s arrival, who takes it upon himself to trek through citycentre first to help where he can. Today, though, Genji believes he might go out. The seabreeze is strong today, and the waters choppy, and there’s a restless urge within him. One he hasn’t felt in a very long time. One that he remembers from his childhood, before duty and honour and family set in. There’s a reckless abandon to what he feels, and he wants to indulge in it for as long as he can. All he really wants to do is run. Not from anything, certainly not from himself, but just — run. What’s better is — he can. The shackles have come off; there’s no one and nothing to stop him, now. Before he leaves, he posts a note to the door telling Zenyatta where he is. His favourite location isn’t far from his house, only a hop, skip, and a jump away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he locks up after himself, he takes one last look at the scenery. Fluffy white clouds dot the sky, but other than that, there’s nothing blocking his sight. In the distance, birds circle, catching an updraft on their wings. Before, Genji would’ve felt a knife twist inside his gut. All he would’ve seen was a bitter reminder of what he lacked; freedom, the essence of life as he knows it. Now, though, there’s nothing — and that’s a freedom within itself. He’s no longer overwrought with envy, and he no longer keeps himself alive with the heat of anger. There’s an airiness within himself that he hadn’t felt before he met Zenyatta. When Genji looks out onto the sea, the birds cawing overhead, he feels nothing but life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At last, Genji decides to take it slow. There’s no need to rush his walk. He trusts in the world to wait for him. After all, there’s nothing but time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s been a long time since Genji talked to Hanzo, and even longer since he learned to let go. It feels like a lifetime ago, sometimes. He doesn’t mind, though. Hanzo has to forge his own path, much like Genji had to. In the end, all he can give his brother is a trust that one day, Hanzo might find the same peace Genji has. And that’s all he feels the need to think of. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It sounds easy. It always does. Nothing Genji can say can describe the nights of heartache he went through; nothing he can do can convey the pain he was in. How could he, when the years he spent on his own are shrouded in fog and despair? Yes, his story sounds like it was easy; as if all he had to do was take a look in the mirror, and watch all his troubles melt away. It’s not like that, though. Stories simplify the real thing, much like the prophecy that ran through his bloodline did. No amount of metaphors and similes could have prepared him for what he went through. Genji supposes, though, that a happy ending does sound rather nice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he walks through the shrubbery, he reaches the top of one of the cliffs that dot Ilios’ coastal line. Even up here, Genji can taste the salt of the sea. He knows he can’t fly; not in the way birds do, not even in the way Angela and Fareeha can. But it’s hard to believe that when he’s up here, and all he can do is soar. Soar above the world, above the clouds, and above everything and anything beyond that. The ground beneath his feet no longer grounds him; it only serves to hold him steady. He used to consider his body a cage; his freedom nowhere to be found. It isn’t that. It used to be; of course it used to be. His body used to trap him inside himself, along with all the wrath of the world. Now, though — now it isn’t. His humanity is what sets him free, and that isn’t dependent on what percentage of </span>
  <em>
    <span>human </span>
  </em>
  <span>he is. Even if he was devoid of skin and bone, he’d still be human. Nothing can ever change him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Standing on top of the world, Genji hears the calls of the seabirds carry on the winds. It’s a call Genji can’t help but reply to, in whatever way he can. He closes his eyes, and feels the way the earth turns on its axis. Finally, he can fly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s nothing but blue. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Twitter: FUKUTOMIJUICHl<br/>Tumblr: mcrpansy</p></blockquote></div></div>
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